


Gossip

by AnnieVH



Series: Behind Closed Doors [16]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Infidelity, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They keep their secrets behind closed doors. But sometimes, people get a glimpse of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gossip

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to fill this prompt (http://rumbelleprompts.tumblr.com/post/90082568530/rumple-milah-neal-belle-tw-domestic) for a while now, so I decided to do it as one-shots pertaining to the same verse (Behind Closed Doors), since I lack the attention span for multi-chapter. If anybody wants to send me ideas and prompts, I need them very much.
> 
> A companion piece for this picspam (http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/102166515522/behind-closed-doors-warnings-domestic-abuse).
> 
> Pairings for this verse: eventual Rumbelle and Swanfire.  
> Warnings for this verse: abusive relationship, implied non-con situations, child-abuse, violence, infidelity, very anti-Milah.
> 
> A HUGE THANKS to Maddie for betaing it so fast!

The moment Rumple dragged Milah home the first time was the moment he knew she would go back to The Rabbit Hole and cause trouble again. If he had learned something after twenty eight years of marriage, it was that his wife would always have the last word. So he gave the bartender his private number and asked to be contacted if he ever saw her in there again.

“Instead of calling the Sheriff, I mean,” he had asked, giving him a rather large tip for a glass of water. “I'd hate for her to get in trouble for something so silly.”

The bartender gave him a look, and then turned to the mirror that covered the wall behind the counter. Half of it had been removed. Rumple didn't think he'd ever forget the feeling of panic that came over him when he heard the glass shattering, followed by the dead silence in the pub.

The bartender turned back to face him. By the look in his eyes, he didn't think the whole thing was silly, at all.

“What I meant is that she doesn't do that kind of thing,” Rumple explained, fidgeting with his cane. “She just had a bad night. I  _am_  sorry for your mirror.”

“I know how to handle drunks, but it's hard when it's a lady,” the bartender explained.

“Of course.”

“Specially when she's alone. And specially because she's your wife, Mr. Gold.”

“I understand.”

“If she ever tried to hurt anybody-”

“She wouldn't,” Rumple interrupted, urgently. “It was just a bad day and she had a glass of scotch too many, that is all.”

The other man looked at him, then eyed the card where Rumple had scribbled down every possible way of contacting him, including the email account Baelfire had set up for him but that he never used.

“Only because she never caused trouble like that before,” the bartender said.

Rumple blinked. Tried to cover his surprise by saying, “Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Jukes.”

“But if you don't get here before she pulls another stunt like that, I'll have no choice but to call Sheriff Humbert.”

“You don't have to worry,” Rumple had reassured him. “She won't cause you any more trouble.”

That had been three days ago. And now he was driving as fast as he could back to the pub because he had gotten the call.

“Mr. Gold, I'm sorry to call, but she's here and, uhn, well I'm not sure how many Jimmy served her before I got here, but I think you should come and fetch her.”

Of course she had gone back. He had dared to ask her not to. He had dared to ask her about the other times she had been there behind his back. He shouldn't have done that. Milah was impulsive and stubborn; she would go back to that pub as many times as she needed to prove she didn't need to be rescued.

Rumple turned off the engine and sighed, bracing himself for what was waiting for him. He should have kept his opinions to himself.

A year before, Milah wasn't like that. Whatever problems they had, they were their own. Now, they were becoming Storybrooke's favorite gossip. Everybody probably thought she had a drinking problem. Or that she was having an affair.

Not that he hadn't been wondering those things himself.

When he walked in, the bartender spotted him immediately, as if he had been waiting for his arrival anxiously. Taking into consideration Milah's last visit, that was very possible. His eyes shifted to the right, discreetly indicating a corner booth where his wife was being entertained by a group of bikers in leather jackets.

Well, wasn't the ideal scenario, but nothing was broken and she hadn't picked up a fight with anybody yet, so it was already better than the last time. He approached the table.

When he was close enough to call her name, one of the bikers – a young, good looking man who couldn't be much older than Baelfire – had leaned into her ear and whispered something that made her smile.

Rumple forced himself not to look around. Small towns ran on gossip and right now people were probably staring at him, curious to know what the most powerful man in town would do now that he had caught wife cheating on him with a group of bikers.

_ Cheating _ , he thought, reprimanding himself for using that word.  _ They're drinking in plain sight. She's drunk. I have to take her home. _

“Milah,” he called, trying not to attract attention to themselves, even though curious eyes were already on him.

Milah looked up and her smile dissolved into scorn.

“Time to go.”

“Good,” she poured herself another drink from one of the many bottles on the table. “So go.”

The man who had been whispering in her ear said, “Who is that?”

“ _That_ ,” she said, pointing with her shot glass in hand, “would be the husband I was telling you about.”

“Oh,” the young man said, delighted. “He does look a little limp.”

There was a round of laughter. Much to Rumple's distress, some people from nearby tables joined in.

“Please,” he said, “you had your fun and it’s late. Lets go home.”

“Home. I'm always home,” she moaned, loudly. “Home is boring. I need a break.”

“I'll make sure to get her to bed, mate,” the young man said. “It will be my pleasure.”

There was another round of laughter and Rumple grasped the handle of his cane, trying to keep himself calm. Last thing they needed was another scandal.

Getting closer, he reached for Milah's arm with the tip of his fingers. Said, very quietly, just a suggestion, because Milah didn't like being ordered around, “Come, love.”

She shook him off, “I don't want to.” But she got up.

Tittered.

This time, Rumple wrapped a firm hand around her arm.

“No, you're no fun.”

The biker didn't move from his seat, but a little concern got to his eyes, as if he feared he might do something to her once they got home. He said, “I think the lady doesn't want to go, mate.”

Gold fixated angry eyes on the young man's face. “I think the lady is too drunk to know what she wants,  _ mate _ .”

Milah pushed him away, saying, “I  _ know  _ what I want. Let me go.”

He was fast to catch her when she lost balance.

She pushed him again. “I said let me go.”

But his grip was tight, despite having to struggle with the cane as well. Years of practice. “You can't even stand,” Rumple said, whispering close to her, keeping his eyes low. He had no idea how many people were watching, but his bet was on the whole bar and he didn't want to look up to find out he was right. “Lets go outside. Just to take some air.”

“I said _NO_!”

She pushed harder and his hand slipped away.

He fumbled for her, but she was quicker, and soon her knuckles had hit his left cheek with all the strength she had.

He heard the biker's laughter even before he felt the pain. “Whoa! The lady is a  _ fighter _ !”

The bartender's voice followed. “That is it! I am calling the Sheriff!”

Rumple landed on a small table. Gladly, it was high enough for him to keep himself upright, because he had to recover very quickly to keep Milah from rejoining her new friends.

“ _I said let me go_!” she shouted, when his arms fell around her and he dragged her away.

“You're not well, Milah!” he said, a little louder.

She kicked and screamed, but the Sheriff's name must have registered in her mind somehow, because she didn't put up the fight he knew very well she was capable of.

The moment the door closed behind them, she stopped struggling. The loss of an audience usually had that effect on Milah. She wobbled on her high heels, but pushed his hands away and marched to the car by herself.

“Well, you already got me here,” she said, furiously pulling on the handle. “Could at least unlock the door. Or do you want to humiliate me more?”

Rumple fished the keys out of his pocket. He wanted to tell her the whole thing had not been easy on him as well, but after twenty eight years, and specially after last time, he had learned that keeping his opinions to himself was the best course of action when dealing with her. Especially in that state. Pointing out that he was just as humiliated as her would only make her start screaming again, and he couldn't handle that right now. Not in a public place. Not twice in less than a week.

He brushed the bruise on his face with the tip of his fingers. That would look bad in the morning. And everyone would know the story. Maybe he shouldn't open the shop tomorrow. Give the story a day or two to die out. Milah already had a reputation after the last incident, to walk around with a bruise on his cheek wouldn't help the gossip. People might think she was dangerous, or worse, and her relationship with the rest of town had always been delicate, to say the least.

When she finally got inside the car, dropping herself heavily on the seat, Graham's vehicle showed up around the corner.

_ Oh, no. _

In a moment, the Sheriff had parked and jumped out of the car.

“Evening, Mr. Gold.”

“She's under control,” he said, quickly. “I'm taking her home now.”

From inside the car, she rolled her head to stare at him with vicious eyes. She didn't appreciate his choice of words, but right now he couldn't care less about that.

Graham asked, “Any property damage?”

“Not this time, no.”

“Any injured?”

“No, of course not.”

He pointed to his cheek. “That looks nasty.”

Rumple didn't say a word.

The Sheriff pressed gently, “Are you alright?”

Rumple sighed. “Please don't call Bae.”

Graham hooked his thumbs on his belt and sighed in response, not committing to anything.

Rumple said, “She just had a drink too many. I'm taking her home now. She'll be fine after a shower.”

“Can I _at least_ help you?”

Milah shouted, “ _ Pervert _ !” from inside the car.

Rumple turned pale. “ _ Milah _ !  _ Please _ !”

She turned away again.

To Graham, he said, “We're fine. I can handle her.”

“What if she hits you again?”

“She is not going to hit me again,” he insisted, exhausted. “I don't even think she _knew_ she was hitting _me_.”

Graham didn't look convinced. But he said, very quietly, so Milah wouldn't hear them, “I'll be outside the house. If you need anything, you call me.”

“And you won’t call Bae?”

Again, Graham seemed conflicted. He had made Bae a promise. But decided, “No.”

Rumple's chest flooded with relief. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

“But if he asks, I’m not lying for her benefit.”

That was still an advantage. If Bae came home from New York to find him bruised as the town riveted with new gossip, there was no predicting what he might do. If Bae came home in a few days, the night at the bar would just be another one of Milah's bad anecdotes and nobody would remember the punch. Bae would frown and say something about how horrible his mother was to his father, but eventually move on to more pleasant things.

Graham followed Rumple's car, not caring much for keeping a distance. If Milah noticed, she said nothing, limiting herself to staring out of the window. When her husband helped her out of the car, she commented, “I don't like Graham.” But that was the last time she mentioned him for the rest of the night.

After the struggle in the bar, undressing her was easy. She didn't move a finger to help him, but didn't get in the way either, preferring to sit still on the toilet while he slipped her out of her dress. A nice dress he had never seen before. Something new she got herself that evening to go meet her biker friend?

When he asked her to step into the warm water in the bathtub, she whined, “I don't want to.” Despite the horrible night he was having, Rumple found her childish tone almost endearing.

“Come, love, it will make you feel better.”

She looked at his reassuring smile.

Reached for the bruise on his cheek with her fingers.

“Did I do that?”

“It’s's nothing,” he said, trying not to grimace.

Her eyes filled with tears. “I am a horrible wife.”

“No, no, no, dear, it’s's alright. Lets get you into the tub, okay?”

He sank her in the water and she immediately recoiled into herself, knees up to her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. He rubbed her back, brushed her hair back and said kind words, but the tears kept falling down her cheeks, eyes fixed on the wall in front of her but her thoughts far away, probably going to dark places that did her no good.

When he put the soap away and reached for her cheek to brush a tear away, she took a hold of his arm and pulled herself closer to him, resting her wet hair on his shoulder and her chin on the crook of his arm. He tightened his embrace around her neck, the way he knew made her feel more secure, and started tracing circles on her back with his other hand.

“You know you shouldn't drink so much,” he said softly, trying not to sound as if he was chastising her. Hostility could shut her down, or worse.

She just sniffed. “I'm bored. I never have fun.”

“Well, life in a small town can be dull. But I don't think beer is the answer to your problem.”

“You never let me do anything fun,” she slurred.

“No, you can do anything you want sweetheart,” he insisted. “It's just dangerous to drink with strangers, that is all. You could get hurt.”

“They wouldn't hurt me. They wanted me.”

He didn't reply.

If she could feel his body tensing, she didn't acknowledge it. “You don't want me.”

“No, of course I do,” he cooed her, a little surprised at the complaint.

It had been her idea to sleep in separate bedrooms, claiming his snoring was getting in the way of her sleep. Rumple welcomed the change with very little heartache. The bed felt too empty now, but, if he had to be completely honest, it was a relief to have some space to stretch without fear of her leg accidentally hitting his bad ankle in the middle of the night.

Since then, she had visited his bed very few times, always with disappointing results, and never to sleep overnight. She had stopped trying altogether a few months before and, as much as he missed the warmth of her body, he'd be lying if he said not having to worry about sex wasn't a weight lift off his shoulders.

“I've been neglecting you, I'm sorry,” he said, softly. “Tomorrow we can think of something fun that we can do together. And maybe something you can do by yourself when I'm at work.”

She didn't move or say a word.

“How about” he suggested, “you take over the library? Nobody seems to want the job and I really hate that Regina closed it now that Mrs. Hare retired. People in town would be really happy if you got it running again.”

She sniffed. “They hate me.”

Rumple sighed. “That's not true, sweetheart.”

“They all hate me. You're the only one who likes me.”

“I do,” he said, more to himself than to her, contemplating the meaning of that not for the first time that night. He rested his face on her head. The bruise stung on his cheek. “I love you.”

Milah clang to him even tighter. “I love you too.”

She spoke with such conviction that he could almost ignore the pain she had caused him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A list of all one-shots in verse chronological order can be found here: http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/102166515522/behind-closed-doors-warnings-domestic-abuse


End file.
